Colors of Life
by vocaloidgirl365
Summary: Arthur Kirkland's life had gone down hill, and gets even worse when he wakes up in Limbo with little to no knowledge of what his life had been. Now, in order to move on, he must re-educate himself with how it was he died and who did it. Along the way, he runs into others much like him, struggling to solve the mystery. Will he find out or will he be trapped for eternity?


This was it, this was the end of his life. Glancing at his appearance in the mirror, he could see how horribly he looked. The noticeable black bags under his eyes, his hair more unruly than ever and his skin was a sickly grey shade. Over the months, his body has grown weak and frail to a point where the bone was practically pressed against the skin.

These were his last few days of freedom; the last few days of his life before going to hell. It's been

a year and a half and Arthur has yet to come to term with what it was that he had done. It was unforgivable and Arthur himself would forever live with the knowledge of his simple mistake.

It cost him his job and nobody had wanted to hire him. Nobody wanted a wanted man in their workplace. He had tried seeking work in places like restaurants, grocery stores, factories, clothing stores, airports; anything that was hiring, any place that might just give him a job. But like always, when they saw his application, those few little words would be the red flag that kept him away from them and his chance at working and starting a new life.

The clock ticked on the wall, the only sound in the room. It was a warm colored room but never had he felt so cold and broken. It ruined him, his life- no, he ruined his own life. If only he hadn't done it. And still, he poured another glass of bourbon, the ice clinking against the glass with a twinkling sound that did nothing to dull the headache he had developed. All of this thinking made his head hurt, and now it was time to stop it.

The cool glass was pressed to his lips and the warm liquid burned his throat on the way down. Slowly, with each sip, his head hurt less and less until he was enveloped in a temporary blanket of warmth and intoxication. But still, it was only short lived before anger took him over, Arthur standing abruptly and walked around with a hurried step. He wasn't going anywhere, just pacing the length of his home as he thought over and over, drowning his mind in thoughts of rage and fury. His eyes locked on the photograph of his wife, taking the image of her in his hand and tracing over each of her features with his fingers.

Her beautiful eyes that sparkled with life, her smile that seemed to mock him with her happiness, the way her skin glowed healthily and for once, Arthur craved her. He wanted her back, he wanted her to hold him and promise never to leave like the day they had gotten married. But now, his ring finger was the only one that bore the ring, her ring thrown in the sewers somewhere or pawned off for a few hundred dollars. And this thought alone, this knowledge was enough to set him off.

The photo collided with the wall, glass shattering against the dark carpet as the faces of the image were pressed against the floor. His foot stepped on it, breaking his memories with the weight of his body and will. He scrounged his apartment for more. More of what; chaos, relief, destruction, he wasn't sure, he just wanted it. Another photo; this of his family and friends from high school, was tossed against the wall, almost knocking down another image that hung on the wall. It was his teaching license, hanging with mock pride. It was useless now and Arthur knew it. Grasping it, he read the words in their perfect, computerized script and his name written in curled letters that flowed flawlessly. The only flaw, he saw, was his name on the paper.

He didn't deserve this plaque and he was very well going to do something about it. It was thrown on the floor, cracking loudly as, once more, his foot attempted to crush his memories into dust and nothingness, wanted them to disappear and stop haunting him.

Amongst all of the chaos and crash and clashing of his memorabilia, his cat, Teacup, hid in the kitchen. It knew best than to go near his owner whenever he was like this and had no problem giving the large beast it's space. He did not know that he would be given away soon to a relative, he did not know he would never be able to see his owner again. Teacup didn't know what it was that had angered his master so or what it was that had him breaking things. All he knew was that he had to stay away and keep himself safe.

Teacup was resting on the counter when he heard the door knob start to jiggle slowly and almost silently. His head lurched up, watching as it was pushed open in a slow and calculated pace; a foot emerging, then a body, and then a head. The strange man glanced at the cat and Teacup immediately moved from his resting position into one of warning and battle. It's instinct told it that this man was up to no good and that he was a stranger in his territory. It began making it's whining sound, warning the man to leave the house and never to return. But the man ignored him, heading to where his human was throwing things about.

The throwing stopped but the noise was still loud and chaotic. There was franticness in the voice of his owner and the strange man and Teacup jumped down to analyze the situation. He watched from the door's entrance, staying out of the confrontation.

"You sick bastard!" yelled the strange man. "You should be dead right now!"

"How did you get in?" was the reply, Arthur backing up with a worried look. "I told you I was sorry, I never meant for any of this to even happen! I'm already going away, isn't that enough for you?"

"No, that's too good for you! You'll be alive and fed and you'll get to sleep and dream and talk to people. You won't be suffering the way that you deserve you piece of shit! You should be killed, stoned, drowned!"

"Please, that is too much! I wasn't in the right state of mind, I told you that if I could have avoided the entire thing, I would have!"

"Avoided? Right state of mind? You're damn straight you weren't in the right state of mind. And look. Look at this thing right fucking here." The man was gesturing to the bottle and glass filled with amber liquid, picking it up in his hand and inspecting it with a look of pure disgust and developing rage. "You say you're truly sorry. You say that you never meant for it to happen but look at this! Look at this right fucking here. This bourbon-" he said as if it was the dirtiest thing he had ever seen. "-is half empty. That glass is cold. If you really felt sorry you'd have stopped drink-"

"Don't you tell me that! I've lost everything and you're going to judge me for this? You broke into my house, what was the point of that?"

Their voices were loud, loud enough for the neighbors to hear every word. They all could tell something bad was happening, yet each one was waiting to see if the cops had arrived, to see if maybe somebody had already called the police. But neither of them could move, no one could speak. They all listened with anticipation; the lady in 1-A had halted her sweeping while the wife in 1-D had begun to cover her children's ears, both startled from the loud shouting and crying into their mother's bosom. The elderly man in 1-I was murmuring to his nurse about the happenings, ears hard of hearing but he could sense the imminent danger that was approaching.

Soon, things were being thrown again, or so it seemed. The voices were no longer shouting out words but grunts, screams, and shouting replaced them. Things were toppling over with loud thudding and finally, finally, the old woman in 1-B had decided to call the police. She described what she heard and the man on the other line simply told her to lock her doors and wait for help to arrive.

But right before the call ended, a bang resonated throughout the entire apartment and for a mere few seconds, everything stopped, everyone stopped. The entire complex was devoid of sound, the people all the way up on the fourth floor halting in their daily activities.

The Wife's children were crying, the woman now grabbing her phone and calling for help. The Nurse who cared for the sickly man also called for help and so did four others. Mere outsiders, those walking along the streets even called, watching as a hooded figure left and hurried down the street, his face out of view and hoping the police didn't catch him.

A few moments had passed and the police finally arrived, heading to the scene of the crime. But everybody, the Wife, the Lady, the Nurse, and the Bystanders were all too late. There he lay, Arthur Kirkland, age twenty-five, in a pool of his own blood. His cat was near his body, licking his face and soon pulling back when the scent of death finally registered.

Arthur Kirkland, the police deduced, was murdered.

His eyes opened to blurriness, soon fading into shades of gray. Slowly, with weak limbs, he was able to lift himself up, realizing suddenly that he was laying down on the ground. In a seated position, he glanced around at his surroundings. Like when he had first woken up, everything was gray, even things that normally weren't gray. The trees, which were normally lit up with shades of green and brown, were gray. The sky with it's white clouds and blue color were too, all gray. The houses with browns and reds on the exterior were also gray.

The next thing he noticed was the sounds. It was as though everything was happening at once. Children laughing, crying, screaming as they played in the park beside him. Parents calling out their children's names, lovers whispering sweet nothings, the wind, the rustle of the leaves, all of these were going on all at once. Even sounds that weren't fit for a scenario such as this, with telephone calls and cash registers ringing, all of it bombarded his ears in a rough and uncoordinated symphony.

It was then that he noticed the last thing. Cars that normally blew by in a matter of seconds were halted blurs on the street. The kids who normally ran around the park and screaming for the other children or their parents, were all stopped as if in a freeze frame. None of the trees moved, none of the animals scurried and none of the papers on the ground blew across with the breeze.

Everything was stopped.

Everything was making sound.

Everything was gray.

Arthur didn't know what to make of this whole thing. It would be around this time that he would have gotten a headache and have gone to a doctor. Running his hands over his clothing, he felt something odd about his shirt. Glancing down, he could see it was tattered and torn, a few buttons undone and a hole in his shirt. He tugged his shirt outward so he could peek inside and saw a red spot. He was completely taken back, surprised his chest was alight and colored. He decided to check everywhere else, his shoes were dulled but nothing in there was colored either. He checked his trousers, slightly torn, and thanked his lucky stars when he saw no light inside of his pants. That would have been weird.

Suddenly, a hooded figure stood before him, completely black except for it's eyes. They were an icy blue, completely analyzing him with one glance. But he was not one, so he would have an easier time.

"Listen to me," the figure- Arthur deducing it was a 'she' due to her feminine voice- hissed. It had an accent, one that Arthur himself was unable to place. He simply nodded and let her go on. "You have died. You are now in Limbo."

Dead? He was dead? How could that be? "What? What do you mean I'm dead?"

"I mean what I mean. You are dead."

"You said that already. And I'm not dead, I'm here right now aren't I?"

"Do you have a pulse?"

"What? Of course I do, what a silly question to ask."

"Do you?" she asked as if implying something. Arthur thought it over, giving her a look of confusion and apprehension as he held two fingers against his pulse point and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"I-I don't have one," was all he could say, looking up at her with a new mixture of fear. Her eyes shone with what looked like amusement and for a moment, Arthur was offended that she would look so prideful. "But how? How did I die?"

"And that is why you are here. You are here to discover how and why you died-"

"Are you serious?" he interrupted with fury in his voice. "What about what they tell you in church about heaven and hell?"

"Church? The people who created 'Church', 'Heaven', and 'Hell', haven't experienced death. Why would you listen to what they say when none of them have died yet?"

She got him there. He simply crossed his arms and huffed, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Fine, okay, you have a point there. But now I want to know if there's a chance of me...moving on. Is this whole place permanent? Am I stuck here?"

"You're so chatty. If you would let me explain everything and asked questions at the end, you'll understand everything and this wouldn't take as long as you have made it. Now, may I go on?" He gritted his teeth and nodded his head in affirmation. She was a sassy one, this thing. Then again, he'd have to ask her what exactly she was-

"I am a Reaper." Oh. "But our job is a little different than what you may have thought it was. When you die, your soul stays in your town, though away from your body. It's more so to reduce shock. We used to have it so that way when you died, you landed near your body but when the reapers showed up, it made for a lot of questions, yelling, and hysterics. Sorry to you, not really. But, even now, you're able to tell where your kill zone was. Have you inspected yourself already?"

"Yes, I have. I noticed this strange glowing in the center of my chest. So, that was my Kill Spot?"

She nodded and hummed in affirmation. "That was the last spot you were hit in that killed you. That's just one of your clues to help you. Though you're not near your body, you're still in the same town you were killed in. Now, whether or not you can figure it out here or somewhere else is not up to me."

"Do you know how I died?" he asked skeptically.

"That is for me to know. Yes, I do know how you died." She was too sarcastic and sassy for him and it really wasn't helping with his current situation.

"Well, why can't you tell me?"

"Because this isn't about moving on. If it were, you'd be on your way right now. This is about closure. You can't move on until you have closure. You're soul physically can not leave until you have closure. Once you discover your death, everything will come back to you."

"Well, how will I know what contributed to my death?"

"Well, your chest is colored, right? Well, everything that contributes to how you died will also light up like that. But I must warn you, there are things here that are dangerous."

"Dangerous? What could be dangerous here?"

"Swipers. These are men and women who have taken their own lives. They do not look like humans, they do not take on their previous form. They are vicious black beasts that will steal your memories."

"How does that work if already, I'm unable to recall anything. Something as simple as my name is- wait... What is my name?"

The hooded woman sighed, surprised at how easily he could switch topics. "Arthur Kirkland, age 25. That is all that I am able to tell you. Now, back to the Swipers and no interruptions. They steal your memories in here. So, if your name is Arthur Kirkland and that is all the information you have, they will take that from you. These people suffered in their lives and wish to make everyone in here suffer with them. They are typically unable to pass on, though there have been exceptions. But, whatever memories you have here will be taken away if you aren't careful. It will then take you longer to get out and inevitably, you'll be stuck here without the knowledge I have given to you."

"That's horrible! I thought this was Limbo not a damn videogame! Is this all for you amusement or something? You said that you were able to transport souls away from their bodies but you're unable to make it so their souls already have closure? You can't make it so these 'Swipers' stay away from the souls who are trying to pass on? There are so many things wrong here!"

"Well Arthur, why do things fall? Why were you born? Why don't I just make you a Swiper for giving me a hard time? You don't remember anything but you did something almost unforgivable in your life. That is reason enough for me to turn you into one. Be grateful I am even giving you help when obviously you're so high and mighty. You obviously must be smart enough to do this on your own. I've given you everything you needed and more, be happy with it and get to solving the mystery of your death. When I leave, those others who are trapped here with you will appear in your sight. They will also be able to interact with you...not that any of them will want to that is." He crossed his arms and practically sneered at her, using all of his will to keep his mouth shut and shut permanently.

"Fine. Thank you for your help." She merely hummed in agreement and vanished. When she was gone, everything started up again. The trees rustled as the wind blew against them, making the appropriate sound that trees were supposed to make. The cars rode on by, letting out their toxic exhaust as they went about their day. The children in the park cried out as they swung on the swings with their squeaking chains. Some cried as they nursed their scrapes, mothers running over to coo and clean them up. Dogs barked and jumped for their Frisbees while their owners sat and chatted up friends, occasionally throwing it back across the park once more.

But still, despite all of this action, nothing had color. The trees were gray, the cars were gray, the children were gray.

Everything way gray.

Someone shoved into him, and for a moment, he was surprised he was able to touch and be touched by those who were on the living plane. It wasn't until that person mumbled an apology that he realized he was just like him. He would have gone to speak to him, had he not taken in the other's appearance. He was completely disheveled and gray, like he had been here for much too long. His movements were slow, his feet dragging along the pavement with despair in every step. Still, despite the unsettling aura he got from that man, he hurried over and tapped on the other's shoulder, "Pardon me, but do you know the easiest way to go about this-"

"Seven Years," the man drawled out in a lazy way.

"I'm sorry?"

"I have been here for seven years. There's no escape, I'm trapped forever." His tone was devoid of any emotion. Slowly he backed away from the man, not wanting to hear more of this 'Seven years'. "You, hurry now. The longer you wait to figure out your death, the longer you're here. I just wish I could find one of those Reapers so I could ask them to wipe me from existence. There's no reason for me to go on and I hope that you just got here. Please, listen to me. Do it now, figure it out now. You walk all over town and you find out how you died. There's no more hope for me, but there's still hope for you."

Arthur didn't know what to say. This advice, it was kind but also terrifying. This man had been here for seven years? How was he even able to keep track of time? "Well, don't give up now lad, I'm sure you'll figure it out-"

"No. I won't. I mean, we come here with nothing but the 'clothes' we died with and that little colored spot that everyone dies with. How, how on Earth are we supposed to figure anything out?"

"Well, sir, I don't very well know you but if you're still in this town, that means you died here right? That in itself is a start."

"So much changes in seven years. One minute you're a child, the next, you're an adult. That much can happen in Seven years. People die, people move, buildings are destroyed, buildings are rebuilt. The park you used to play in could now be a bank and you'd never know it because you don't ever remember playing in a park. You can't talk to anyone unless they're here, trapped with you. The only clue you get are those rare blotches of color that pop up but those can be so vague sometimes, it's hard to even keep track of what it is they can mean."

"'Random blotches of color'?"

"Right, that's something you're supposed to figure out. When you see something colored naturally, there's a clue there to your death. It could be the place you lived in, the crime scene, or a friend's house. That's why this whole thing is confusing and just doesn't make sense. You sit here all day, wandering around with nothing to entertain you but watching life move on." This man was a huge downer. Arthur didn't need this negativity and if what this man said was true, than Arthur needed to get moving on finding out what the possible cause of his death was. "So go, go on. You're fresh out of your body, the clues should be abundant what with you being alive only a little while ago. Move on, do it. Hell, do it for the both of us," he said with a small smile. He then turned his back to Arthur and left, walking down the lonely road to eternal pain.

Arthur didn't want that. He didn't want to be trapped here with nothing but gray shades and limited knowledge of what he was as a person. That woman brought up how he had done something horrible and suddenly, he felt ill. What kind of horrible deed could he have possibly done? Was he a murderer? Did he eat people? A shiver ran down his spine as he looked off towards where the man walked off. He would do it, there was no doubt about it. He would find out why he died and who killed him and who his family was and everything else he wanted to know. It was like being a newborn, little knowledge of anything or anyone.

But he will learn.

He will avoid the Swipers.

He will solve the mystery.

Arthur Kirkland would move on.

* * *

_**Yup, okay, there it is. I have re-written the whole thing, added things, made it better than what it once was. I thought the first draft was sheer crap and will probably take it down. This one, in my eyes, is much better. Corrective Criticism is welcome, I like learning what I can possibly do differently. I know where I want this to go and will be updating when I can, hopefully every week. **_

_**I hope you enjoyed this so far and there will be more to come.**_


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